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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30129276">Alea iacta est</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beulaithris/pseuds/Beulaithris'>Beulaithris</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1940s, Creature Inheritance, Dark Harry, F/M, Family Magic, I work in a hospital my ability to tell what's horrifying and what isn't any more is gone, Medical Magic, Multi, Necromancy, Old Magic, Parseltongue, Ritual Magic, Slow Burn, Slytherin, Time Travel, Tom is Tom, as in i have about 20 chapters planned out and they're just about warming up, fem harry, little bit of body horror I guess?, no beta we die like men, slowish burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:56:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,141</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30129276</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beulaithris/pseuds/Beulaithris</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hogwarts is Burning. </p><p>Just as Harry's about to die, she's flung back in time- before witch burnings, before the muggles found out, before she started Hogwarts, before her parents were murdered-</p><p>All the way back to 1943, in fact. Great. </p><p>Now, she has three objectives- figure out how she was thrown back in time, figure out how to get back to stop the muggles finding out, and avoid attracting attention from the budding Dark Lord who /will not leave her alone/ (maybe she should also add on 'stop making Dumbledore suspicious and find out what dark magic actually is if she's apparently practising it as easily as breathing).</p><p>('If you want to stay alive then sometimes the ends begin to justify the means' is a philosophy Harry has had to get very used to very quickly, and maybe her ethics have changed, and maybe that means she's slightly sideways these days, and why won't her mouth stop aching-) </p><p>Above it all, the entity known as death stands watch. </p><p>(It has items on loan, after all. It would be quite something to get them back.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Potter/Tom Riddle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>112</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Creo quia absurdum est</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hogwarts was burning.</p><p>Harry staggered around the corner of the seventh floor corridor, running her fingers desperately over the smooth stone and trying to ignore the panicked shouting of the tapestry inhabitants her fingers tripped over.</p><p>She took a breath, the twisting, acrid smoke burning her lungs.</p><p>“Hello? Any-” she yelled, cut off further by a coughing fit which took her to her knees.</p><p>The noise echoed down the corridor unanswered. Somewhere in the distance there was a loud rumble, like a mountain standing up, the floor shaking beneath her.</p><p>‘<em>No good staying here,’ </em>she thought grimly, spitting phlegm and trying to ignore the red streaks. She screwed up her eyes, forcing herself to her feet, feeling her heart hammering like a jackrabbit caught in headlights.</p><p>She took a further staggering step then sniggered at the thought.</p><p>Headlights. Might as well have been.</p><p>The furious rat-a-tat-tat of machine gun fire brought her back to some sort of lucidity. She gritted her teeth, hand uselessly going towards the broken pieces of wood in her pocket. Not that magic would help her much. Shields weren’t much help against bullets…</p><p>Slowly, the effort seeming almost impossibly, Harry limped up the seventh floor corridor. It was black with smoke now, noises bouncing around her like tennis balls in a giant washing machine. She swore there was something else except from woodsmoke in the air now, triggering faint memories of summer evenings in Surrey and – oh. <em>Oh.</em></p><p>The dark haired girl staggered against the wall, seeing stars as she expelled the last remnants of her stomach. Well. That would explain why they were chopping down the Forbidden forest rather than just setting it alight.</p><p>A hysterical giggle escaped her lips. How medieval.</p><p>It was getting hard to breathe now. She slid slowly down the wall, staring at the familiar grey of the stone level with her head. It had vaguely pink tones within it (‘<em>Quartz’ </em>the part of her brain which was still functioning said), and some squiggles which seemed familiar, as though from a dream. Were the squiggles moving? Or was it the oxygen deprivation?</p><p>Harry didn’t know. She sighed, reaching fingertips towards it, begging to touch something familiar before she died.</p><p><em>‘Stupid Voldemort,’ </em>she thinks, dirt-stained lids closing over finally dull green eyes, ‘<em>This is all his fault. I wish someone’d stopped it.’</em></p><p>
  <em>'I wish I'd stopped it.'</em>
</p><p>The world went black.</p>
<hr/><p>A note, then, on entropy.</p><p>Entropy is, roughly defined, the descent and tendency of all things to fall into chaos. From chemical reactions to empires to teenage romances, entropy describes their merry dance towards destruction. So, whilst not strictly chaos, it might be defined as its spiritual underpinning and parent.</p><p>Chaos, however, has its own opinions, please and thank you very much. Very few of these opinions include the wiping out of magic, frankly, since magic users who broke three laws of physics before breakfast and several laws of nature before elevenses were some of its favourites.</p><p>If it could look (philosophical entities rarely have eyes, after all), then they would currently be staring pitifully at the entity which represented Time and the entity which represented Death.</p><p>The latter, if it could be said to do so, crossed its skeletal arms, very much communicating that no, it wouldn’t be swayed, thank you, magic users were more trouble than they were worth, seeing how often the damn things messed up its paperwork.</p><p>Time, in comparison, seemed to be pondering. This might be a good thing, if it meant death had finally discovered the loss of its (not quite as metaphorical nor philosophical [again, magic users tended to ignore such pesky clarifiers]) personal affairs didn’t really affect it. Moving on was a good thing. Showed growth, really, Life must be rubbing off on it, going soft like that.</p><p>There was a grumble of discontent, living things across both the known and unknown universes feeling for a second like something had walked over their graves.</p><p>Fine. It’d help, but only if the others were sure that they’d be able to file <em>That</em> particular lost item form.</p><p>Chaos would have grinned if it could, metaphorically giving Luck a surreptitious high five (or seven, or three hundred and seven, or bi<sup>2</sup>- not having fingers made that saying rather difficult at times).</p><p>They all knew Death had its favourites, after all. And if those favourites just happened to also be favoured by Time, Magic, Chaos and Luck, well… what of it?</p>
<hr/><p>Harry’s first impression was pain.</p><p>It felt like she was bathing in <em>crucios,</em> veins full of fire, mouth of barbed wire and bones full of builders with sledgehammers.</p><p>Two options then- she was either A) In Hell, or B) Had somehow survived the Harrowing of Hogwarts.</p><p>Not yet daring to open her eyes, she cautiously tried to wriggle the fingers of one hand, biting back a hiss as the fire was replaced with thousands of pins and needles. Quite possibly Hell then.</p><p>For a moment, she debated with herself, then threw caution to the wind and cracked open an eye. Instantly, it felt very much as though that had been a mistake, a black gulf of pain threatening to engulf her again.</p><p>Slowly, her vision cleared, the stabbing going down to a faint throb.</p><p>Wherever she was, it wasn’t Hell. The light of the full moon spilled gently through iron framed windows, illuminating a room with vaulted ceilings. The walls glowed gently in the way that all whitewashed walls do, a jug filled with clear water slowly coming into focus by her bedside.</p><p>Huh. Into focus. That was weird.</p><p>She focused on the glass jug with bewilderment, noting the faint streaks of green shot through the glass. How strange. Maybe she was dead and (somehow) went the other way instead, her eyesight had never been this good…</p><p>She hesitantly attempted to reach a hand towards it, letting out a yelp as the stabbing pains she’d momentarily forgotten about decided to remind her they were still there.</p><p>So. Not dead.</p><p>A creak echoed around the room, a figure flaring with light as it make its way towards her. Blinking furiously in the sudden illumination, Harry squinted, trying to decipher who might have rescued her.</p><p>The man was short, a sharp black beard curving around his face and disappearing into a rust red turban. The blaze resolved into an oil lamp as her eyes adjusted, a soft golden glow illuminating his light blue robes as he set it gently on the bedside table and sat in the chair by her bed.</p><p>“Hello?” he said, a harsh Glaswegian accent strangely at odds with the softness of his tone. “Can you understand me? Do you speak English?”</p><p>Harry groaned slightly, trying to convince her jaw to answer. Her mouth really did feel like it had had barbed wire stuffed into it, the pain radiating from her upper jaw and tasting heavily of rust. “Y-yeah.”</p><p>He smiled kindly.</p><p>“Ah, excellent. I thought you might be another Frenchy who, well, wouldn’t. Do you remember your name?”</p><p>“Harriett P-P,’ Harry said slowly, tongue tripping awkwardly over the words. The headache grew in ferocity, feeling like angry wasps in her head as she thought ‘Potter’, making her whimper.</p><p>‘Peverell. Y’don’t sound French,’ she managed, gratefully accepting the cup of water he brought to her lips.</p><p>He chuckled. “A Scot, I’m afraid. I’m Healer Singh, and you’re in the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts. We found you on the edge of the Forbidden Forest a few days ago and you’ve only just woken up. Do you remember how you got here?’</p><p>Harry blinked owlishly at him. “Y’stopped t’attack?”</p><p>The man let out a small sigh, wrinkles around his eyes appearing. “Ah, were you attacked on the Continent? The war’s a wee bit horrendous at the moment, we’re seeing quite the stream of refugees.”</p><p>War? Continent? Refugees? Harry blinked at him again, panic rapidly rising in her chest. She flicked her eyes over his robes- <em>hey, was that a sword</em>? Wait, no, work that out later- not the uniform she was used to, definitely. And come to think of it, this wasn’t the medical ward, there wasn’t the rhythmic swinging of the great clock’s pendulum to lull ill students to sleep, and <em>wasn’t it the full moon when the attack on Hogwarts had been launched anyway and oh Merlin-</em></p><p>She swallowed, the rust taste being replaced with the sour taste of bile as she retched, Healer Singh calmly conjuring a bowl to hold underneath her mouth. “Wha- what’s the date?”</p><p>In the distance, a clock chimed, almost as though dooming Harry to the conclusion she was quickly reaching.</p><p>“Hm? Well… if that’s correct, just gone the 4<sup>th</sup> of November.”</p><p>“1996?”</p><p>He laughed, a tinge of sadness flitting though the noise. “Ah, you’ve really had a time of it, haven’t you? No- 1943. Budapest was liberated about a month ago, if that helps?”</p><p>1943… Harry fought down the urge to giggle, letting out a horrible wheezing sound. Of course her life couldn’t be normal, could it? What would Hermione say, if she was here? The curly haired girl had freaked out at the thought of going back in time for three hours, never mind 53 years-</p><p>“Miss Peverell,” the Healer said, a note of alarm in his voice, “Miss Peverell, breathe.”</p><p>The world started to swim again as Harry sucked in a hasty breath. One thing at a time.</p><p>“Budapest… ‘rings bells,” she said slowly. “Entire world were on fire… don’t remember much beyond that. M’wand got smashed?”</p><p>Healer Singh nodded, eyeing her as if he couldn’t quite trust her to continue to breathe without his reminders.</p><p>“You had quite a lot of smoke in your lungs when we found you- maybe apparition? Your wand, well- the pieces of it are in your bedside cabinet.”</p><p>Harry closed her eyes, nodding dumbly. Why was that the news which made grief hit her like a wave? If it was truly 1943, then none of her friends would be here to see. Though, could you grieve people who weren’t alive if they hadn’t been alive yet? English didn’t have the tenses for this type of thought dammit-</p><p>She felt a warm hand patting her gently on the shoulder, a handkerchief in front of her face when she opened an eye. She carefully reached up to touch her face, finding it wet. Oh.</p><p>“It’s been a rough half hour, Miss Peverell,” the healer said, withdrawing a small purple potion's bottle from one of his pockets. “How does this sound- a wee bit of dreamless sleep so you can rest until morning, then we’ll start trying to figure out what to do with you, aye?”</p><p>Harry closed her eyes again, a sudden wave of exhaustion hitting her. That sounded good- or better than dealing with everything right now, anyway.</p>
<hr/><p>The rest of the week flew by, tree facts rapidly becoming apparent:</p><p>1) She was in 1943, with absolutely no idea how she’d got there or how she’d get home.</p><p>2) If she tried to explain she was from the future, the wasps living inside her head would decide to attack the inside of her skill, so she shouldn’t try (It also made her sound insane. Which was unhelpful).</p><p>3) There was very little she could do about either of the above facts without a lot of time and a lot of research (or a Hermione, which cycled back to problem 1).</p><p>At least the pain had stopped (except for when she tried to tell people about the future- and even she wasn’t stupid enough to try it more than a few times). Her mouth still felt funny, but so did some of her bones- Healer Singh said it looked like someone had crucioed her repeatedly and some spell residue was echoing through them. Which sounded fakey to Harry, but so did time travel, so what could you do about it?</p><p>Nothing- hence why she was stood in front of the statue leading to the headmaster’s office, fiddling with the hem of her sleeves and with the unfamiliar wand in her pocket.</p><p>Wasn’t that another mystery, she thought. She’d proffered her phoenix feather core to Ollivander after three hours of fruitlessly trying out wands, asking if he could maybe do something with it. The young man (and didn’t that feel strange to think?) had hummed gently and asked her to wait a moment, coming back with a wand made of smooth brown eucalyptus, shots of golden wood sprinkled throughout the grain.  </p><p>An experiment, he’d smiled, for tenacity and new starts. He’d bound the feather within the wood and it had immediately come to life, singing in the way Harry remembered. The man had still sighed gently, however, waving off her offer of 7 galleons- apparently it still wasn’t ‘quite right’- but it’d have to do.</p><p>She also had the feeling that she’d forgotten something very, very important about this year- but quite what it was, she couldn’t remember, and not knowing was going to drive her <em>mad-</em></p><p>Harry shook herself vigorously, trying to shove away the cloud of gloom gathering over her head like a particularly depressed cloud of mosquitoes. A new start it would have to be- that was the entire reason she was here, wasn’t it?</p><p>“Puffins,” she said. The gargoyle jumped aside, and she climbed the stairs towards the headmaster’s office.</p><p>Judging by his office, Headmaster Dippet, was almost the opposite of Dumbledore. Gone were the wildly whizzing and spinning contraptions, the bright colours and the pheonix. The room looked almost bare, in fact- just a wall of headmaster’s portraits, a desk, the spindly man, and (currently) a stool with a battered wizard’s hat on it.</p><p>Professor Dippet nodded at her, looking tired. According to Healer Singh she really wouldn’t be that out of place. Refugees from Grindelwald’s war arrived almost every other week, fleeing to the relative safety of a castle protected by millennia of magic and the English Channel.</p><p>“Miss Peverell, a pleasure. I’m sorry we haven’t had more time to introduce you to the school, it’s been rather busy. I’ve had the prefects of your year stay behind after the last meeting so your housemate may walk you to your dorm- Hogwarts is a beautiful castle, but rather…. Harumph… hard to navigate without help.”</p><p>Internally, Harry smiled. Well, that’s one thing she didn’t need to worry about changing. She’d be wearing gold and red, knowing exactly where she was by tomorrow morning, thank you!</p><p>“Thank you, Sir.”</p><p>The Headmaster nodded at her, his wrinkles getting wrinkles as he smiled at her. “Now, dear girl- if you could just sit on that stool and put the hat on, your sorting should soon be done.”</p><p>Harry nodded, gently picking up the fabric (gosh, it seemed so much smaller this time around!). She sat, pulling the hat over her head, blessed relief washing over her as the light was blocked out. Honestly, how people without bad eyesight stood all the colours around them-</p><p>“<em>Well, most people don’t have that problem,” </em>the Hat said in a conversational tone. <em>“Though you don’t really know why you suddenly do either, do you?”</em></p><p><em>“You’re the one who can see everything I know,” </em>Harry thought.</p><p>“<em>Why yes! And all the things you don’t know which are in your head- a much more exciting talent, if you ask me. Now, what have we got…”</em></p><p>
  <em>“Now, plenty of bravery- I can see why you will be or have been sent into Gryffindor. That lack of self preservation instinct! And loyalty too… You’ve got a good bit of badger here lass. Maybe not so much Ravenclaw- you didn’t ever have a love of studying unless it was life or death, did you?”</em>
</p><p><em>“Don’t forget my ambition and cunning, which could make me great in Slytherin,” </em>Harry thought, contentment winding its way around her legs like a satisfied cat. “<em>But despite this, it's obvious, I'm still a lion through and through.”</em></p><p>
  <em>“Hmm.”</em>
</p><p>Well. That wasn’t a good sign.</p><p><em>“You’re not wrong! Not wrong at all- but see, the brain’s a bit more defined and less malleable by sixth year, isn’t it? Did you </em>really<em> kill the basilisk in second year?”</em></p><p><em>“It tried to kill me first,” </em>Harry thought defensively, “<em>And it technically killed me back.”</em></p><p>
  <em>“Hmm, you do have that touch of death around your edges, don’t you? Oh, don’t panic Lass, who would I tell? No... I didn’t know the Peverells were Naedrelaeden, though. How interesting!”</em>
</p><p>“<em>Neddy whats?”</em></p><p>
  <em>“Oh, the spell hasn’t got a translation for that one, Lass, sorry. I’d recommend taking runes or spellcrafting to figure it out. I'm afraid even without your use of interesting magic, that makes my decision rather final.”</em>
</p><p>“SLYTHERIN,” the hat called out to the Headmaster, chuckling into her ear as a stream of profanities flitted through her head.</p><p>“<em>Good luck and be careful. This isn’t your time yet- treat it as an opportunity and a danger.”</em></p><p>If the hat could be glared at in any meaningful way, Harry would currently be throwing it the filthiest of filthy looks. But since it had gone back to its neutral state of, well, being a hat…</p><p>Harry bit her tongue, taking it off and setting it gently on the desk. Her uniform sparked gently, the light grey of non-affiliated robes taking on silver and green hems.</p><p>The Headmaster nodded pleasantly, offering her a grandfatherly smile. “An excellent house- looks after its own. Tom will be waiting at the bottom of the stairs for you.”</p><p>Grumbling to herself, Harry descended the stairs. Stupid hat, going slowly batty with age and time and only every talking to 11-year-olds.</p><p>In fact, she was so distracted that she actually tripped over the prefect at the bottom of the stairs. Strong arms caught her before she hit the floor, thankfully preventing a second trip to the Hospital Wing.</p><p>“Whoa! Thanks, sorry, tripped over my own robes. My name’s Harriet, but everyone calls me Harry-“</p><p>She turned as she spoke, then froze as the face her eyes alighted on registered.</p><p>He wasn’t tall, at least for most men- then again, she’d never been the tallest either, so she still only came to his shoulder. Dark curls framed an aristocratic face, all sharp angles and shark teeth hidden behind a polite smile- the face which had haunted her nightmares since she was 12.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck. FUCK. Fuck fuck fuck.</em>
</p><p>The Prefect smiled, the warmth never quite reaching his eyes.</p><p>“A pleasure, I’m sure. My name’s Tom Riddle, but I much prefer Riddle. Now, lets get you back to the Common Room before curfew falls, yes? It wouldn’t do to lose us house points before lessons start.”</p><p>The universe hated her, Harry decided, mentally cursing the Sorting Hat.</p><p>Detested her- no other explanation.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Primum non nocere</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Riddle (<em>Tom Marvolo, Heir of Slytherin, You-Know-Who,</em> <em>Voldemort, the Last Dark Lord-</em>) is right in front of her.</p><p>“As you can see, this Hall is Gothic in style, completed in 1482 by Fedrick Moonback. It’s rarely used, aside from the end of term ball, but there’s a small chapel down the far end if you’re that way inclined. The next door leads onto a corridor which you may wish to remember the location of if you’ve an interest in Magical History…”</p><p>Harry zoned out Riddle’s words, hands jammed deep in her cloak pockets. Her fingers caressed the handle of her wand as she nodded along, not listening.</p><p>It’d been a long time since an enemy had turned their back towards her. She was close enough to see the baby hairs at the nape of his skull, curling into half moons as though waiting to welcome a death bolt.</p><p>“Now, this is the Rosette corridor- so named for the rather awful carpeting- and you ought to remember it as I believe it’s where household charms is held. You’d have to ask one of the other young ladies about that, however.”</p><p>Her fingers itched now, words bubbling on the end of her tongue like surf on the beach. A <em>Bombarda</em> would do it, as would a <em>Diffindo- </em>though those were both messy, maybe a <em>Coagulum</em> would be best and-</p><p>BANG</p><p>Harry jumped, whipping her wand towards the noise, sparks already spitting from it.</p><p>The first year at the other end squeaked, brown eyes wide. The putrid stench of sulphur emanated from him (<em>rotten eggs, healing potions, the gas rolling through Diagon Alley-)</em>, as some sort of liquid dripped from his hair, staining the blue lining of his robes a disgusting snot colour.</p><p>Beside her, Riddle sighed, stowing away his own wand. “Lazenby, Barnaby- no Gobstones in the corridors. You’re past curfew too.”</p><p>The boys shuffled awkwardly, looking down at their feet. As Harry’s heart rate recovered, she hastily stashed her wand away too, feeling mildly guilty. They couldn’t have been older than second year, and fear coloured the looks both of them were sending her as Riddle pinched his nose.</p><p>“S-Sorry, Prefect Riddle.”</p><p>Riddle smiled at them gently, an expression he really shouldn’t have been able to pull off as he crouched to be on their level. “Remember that there’s a war on, and unexpected bangs can make people jumpy. Five points from Ravenclaw for being out after curfew.”</p><p>Lazenby and Barnaby (who, by the looks of him, was also covered in smelly liquid) nodded solemnly, not quite managing to mask the glances they were throwing towards Harry.</p><p>She tried to smile at them. Judging by the way they flinched, it wasn’t as reassuring as she meant it to be.</p><p>Riddle held out his hand towards them and they hastily surrendered the Gobstones to the older boy. With a nod from the prefect, they bolted into the dark in the direction of Ravenclaw tower.</p><p>“Miss….? What was your last name?” Riddle said, slipping the stones casually into his pocket.</p><p>“…Peverell,” Harry said shortly. “But really, I’d rather Harry.”</p><p>“Miss Peverell. I’d recommend attempting to get that jump reflex under control,” he said casually, turning back towards the corridor and starting down it again.</p><p>“Slytherin is… not a place I’d recommend showing weakness.”</p><p>“What’s it to you?” she snapped, guilt slipping away into irritation.</p><p>“Just words of advice from a Prefect,” he stated neutrally. “People are not always kind about the War. Impressive, though, I imagine you’ll excel in Defence.”</p><p>Harry eyed him suspiciously, searching for the crack in that perfectly put together face. Weirdly, he reminded her of Percy, all puffed up and prim and proper, if it wasn’t for alarmingly intense brown eyes instead of blue-</p><p>Her own eyes widened in horror and she made a strangled sound, hiding it under a coughing fit to avoid the eye contact she was about to make. Yes, just look the most dangerous wizards and one of the most successful Legilimens in history in the eye, because that’s clever.</p><p>“Sorry, Healer Singh says smoke damage,” she wheezed. “But yeah, I’m pretty good at Defence. You?”</p><p>He smirked slightly, the resemblance only intensifying. “Oh, everything. But Defence is a favourite, I must admit.”</p><p>He offered her his arm as though he’d escort her onwards and she shook her head.</p><p>Down through the dark castle she followed him, acutely aware of the echoes of the place. It just felt <em>weird</em> being back, everything so familiar and yet… not. The lack of cannon fire was a bonus, she had to admit, but the upkeep seemed... off. Had she ever seen the dungeons looking so dry?</p><p>They stopped in front of a bare stretch of wall, the dungeon’s cool starting to seep into her bones even as Harry pulled her cloak tighter around herself.</p><p>“The door to the common room is this piece of wall. Had you started in September, then it would have been marked for a month or so by new sconces. As you can see, this is no longer the case. Instead, remember that it’s the blank piece of wall after the seventh portrait.”</p><p>“Excellent. Now, this month’s password is <em>Scurra</em>, and it changes every month. If you forget to check the change on the common room board, then you can ask one of the portraits to ask someone to let you in, but that’s frightfully inconvenient in the middle of the day, so I’d avoid relying on it.”</p><p>Harry nodded, watching with fascination at the wall changed. At his proclamation, the stones had wavered like a mirage, then started flowing together, taking the form of a high archway. Snakes curled lazily around the stone columns, the light of the corridor scones reflecting in their inset onyx eyes.</p><p>‘Come, I’ll show you to your dorm. Now, the important thing to remember is that Slytherin houses everyone in individual rooms as the dungeons have the space. There is, of course, an exception made for those who are married, but I suspect that’s not a concern for you. Girls dorms to the left, boys to the right. Straight ahead is the common room and the Maze, which is a variety of rooms new students are encouraged to try out and discover themselves.”</p><p>He smiled at her again, a lazy expression which crawled across his face like a centipede across a rotting log. “Any questions?”</p><p>Harry started to shake her head, then bit her lip. “Do we have duelling practice in Defence?”</p><p>“Once a week. Theory and Spell Practice on Tuesday Mornings, then a Practical lesson on Friday Afternoon. I expect the headmaster will have your timetable owled to you tomorrow morning.”</p><p>Harry nodded, murmuring a thank you as Riddle inclined his head and did an about turn towards the boys’ dorms.</p><p>Taking the hint, she quietly pushed her way onto the girls’ corridor, eyes alighting upon the brass nameplate outside of each door. Finding hers, she slipped inside, sitting heavily on the bed and pulling out her wand, clutching it like a prayer.</p><p>It hummed softly in response, a prickling feeling of electric concordance going through Harry’s fingers. That was that decided then.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Ron looked at Hermione, face grey underneath the spattering of freckles which still littered his face. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Are you sure, ‘Mione? This is… Dark Magic. Dark dark.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hermione sighed, running a dark hand through her wild hair as the tempest around them howls, fingers catching in the tie of her eye patch. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Dark magic, light magic- does it really matter anymore?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Harry pinched her nose, her own hair tied back in a tight bun. “It’s not offensive, really. Might even save our lives.”</em>
</p><p><em>Ron thinks, the furrows on his forehead deepening deepening. He has stress lines around his eyes and a tremor in his fingers he can’t quite get rid of, and in the night he </em>sobs <em>(the Burrow had burned and burned, and even if his parents hadn’t been in it the loss of a family seat is hard for wizardfolk). </em></p><p>
  <em>But underneath that, the ginger boy is the same tactician he’d been at eleven when he’d won against the chess board by sacrificing himself. His decision was made as soon as his protests died in his throat, once soft blue eyes darkening like granite in a winter storm as the sky above rumbles ominously. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Point. ‘Least we finally found a use for that fucking stone knife from potions, huh?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Lightning splits the sky, drops falling from the sky like vengeance as Harry screams through the dragonhide glove in her mouth. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s not just water running down her back. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s not just water running down her hands as she does the same for Hermione. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Harry’s eyes snap open, sitting bolt upright.</p><p>An armchair and her dresser spin violently in the air like a demented, house-themed carousel for a moment then clatter to the floor, something splintering with a screech of abused wood as it hits the stone surface.</p><p>Her hands are itchy, coated in a subconscious layer of copper rust, her subconscious screaming at her to bolt to a shower and <em>scrub</em> until phantom stains are replaced with real, red alive liquid.</p><p>Harry breaths hard, pinching the bridge of her nose (and if she checks that her hands are clean before screwing up her eyes, then what of it?) and trying to control herself. Losing control of her magic like that would be… bad. Best not let anyone else see it.</p><p>When her breathing calms, she opens her eyes again, wincing slightly as she takes in the room.</p><p>Slytherin rooms are beautiful, in a harsh, barren way. Without the morning sunlight filtering through the skylights of Gryffindor tower it’s dark, but Harry can see a pane of glass looking into the lake which should give the room a gorgeous green shade when the sun rises. The curved ceiling meets a wall with a built-in bookcase in cherry wood, facing a small fireplace, desk and armchair area for her to (presumably) sit and plot evil deeds.</p><p>Or, the armchair <em>would</em> be standing if she hadn’t just broken one of its legs.</p><p>Harry buried her head in her hands with a groan. Great. Homework before she’d even started.</p><p>With a sigh, she hauled herself out of bed, walking to the wardrobe and dressing in the unfamiliar emerald and silver school uniform. She missed the Gryffindor common room with its warmth and softness already, wincing as bare feet touched the stone flagstones. Were Slytherins in her own time used to such a Spartan way of living, Harry wondered? Or was it just the war?</p><p>She exited her room in a dream, barely remembering to pick up her tatty leather schoolbag, and walked as though dreaming through the wall and towards the breakfast table.</p><p>Hogwarts in the early morning darkness was even stranger than it had been last night, Harry decided. Where she remembered barren walls, gorgeous threaded tapestries depicted dragons and unicorns; a suit of armour in the shape of a hippogriff glowered over the entrance hall; runes glowing and moving sluggishly above her head like safety lights had in her primary school-</p><p>Maybe she’d forgotten more than she’d thought.</p><p>It was this this disquieting thought that she sat down at the Slytherin breakfast table, gloom settling around her shoulders like a lethifold as she gingerly ate her toast.</p><p>“Peverell, I take it?” a quiet voice asked, close to her ear.</p><p>“Gah!” Harry said, turning her neck so quickly it cracked.</p><p>The blonde boy in front of her smiled apologetically, offering the one hand he wasn’t using to carry a huge textbook towards her. “Sorry. Mallory Nott, Heir of the most Ancient and Noble House of, well, Nott. Tom mentioned that you joined us last night.”</p><p>Harry shook his hand warily as the blonde sat down, laying the book between them. “Pleasure. What’re you reading?”</p><p>Nott smiled wider, pushing it towards her as he poured them both tea, ignoring Harry’s protests.</p><p>“Nope, Tom’s under strict instructions from Healer Singh to make sure you eat and drink enough, and thus so am I! It’s an anatomy textbook, you’re welcome to look.”</p><p>Harry grumbled softly, taking the tea and inhaling deeply. Mallory had a familiar look about him now that he’d introduced himself, the pointed chin and sharp cheekbones belonging to another Slytherin student she’d never really paid much attention to.</p><p>“Tom this, Tom that- do you do everything he say?” she said, helping herself to another slice of the toast.</p><p><em>‘Though, maybe that was too close to the truth- hadn’t he had a gang?’ </em>Harry thought, eyes widening as she swallowed. Maybe this Nott really was here to kill her, maybe Riddle had-</p><p>A piece of toast went down the wrong way and she began to cough violently, the boy making an alarmed noise and jabbing her hard in the stomach.</p><p>Surprisingly it worked, the half-chewed carbohydrate flying back onto her plate as she spluttered, thumping her chest. Honestly, she survives the end of the world and <em>toast</em> almost kills her.</p><p>“Erm, thanks,” she said sheepishly, grabbing her cup of tea and attempting to hide behind it.</p><p>Nott grinned back at her, all infective cheeriness. “Welcome. I should say thank you for the practice; I’m going to be a healer so I need it!”</p><p>An answering smile worked its way onto Harry’s face as she took a sip of tea. “That’s what the anatomy textbook is for then?”</p><p>“Ah, well, that’s just Slytherin’s guide to the torture of children for potions ingredients,” Mallory said seriously, helping himself to the sausages. “It would be rather a shame to mix up a potion because you don’t know the difference between hypercoagulable and coagulable states of blood, wouldn’t it?”</p><p>Harry chuckled, almost surprised by the noise. When was the last time she’d laughed? She couldn’t remember.</p><p>“Just a waste of good body parts,” she agreed, “And children are wiggly, so it might be hard to try again.”</p><p>A large, dark haired heavy-set boy collapsed onto the bench opposite them, grunting a good morning and immediately reaching for the coffee. “Great, ‘nother early bird.”</p><p>“Morning,” Nott said cheerily. “Peverell, meet Samael Avery, son of House Avery. Don’t bother him before 11AM, he’s <em>useless.</em>’</p><p>Avery levelled a glare at the offending boy, downing a cup of coffee in one and putting his head gently to the table, growling as Nott’s teasing continued good naturedly.</p><p>Harry smiled quietly behind her cup, opening up the textbook as the two bicker (or Nott bickers, and Avery downs an increasingly concerning amount of coffee whilst grunting). It feels nice, she realises, in this quiet dawn. Hogwarts always has felt like home (and home, to a wizardfolk, means so much more).</p><p>Fortunately, the universe has never had the patience for a soppy Harry, and her calm forgetfulness of just where she is is rudely shoved away as Riddle sits opposite her, not a crease on his uniform or a hair out of place. Bastard.</p><p>
  <em>(Murderer, abomination, traitor-)</em>
</p><p>He yawns, the ghost of sleep still in his eyes, helping himself to porridge. “Did you sleep well, Miss Peverell?”</p><p>“Adequately,” Harry said, putting the last half of her toast down. “I thought you’d be down- up, first.”</p><p>Riddle raised a lazy eyebrow, wrapping long, spider-like fingers around his mug of something brown. “I had something to do. You must have an excellent sense of direction getting here this early, however, there’s barely anyone at breakfast yet.”</p><p><em>Shit. </em>He was right- the hall was empty except for a few lone Ravenclaw seventh years and a teacher she didn’t recognise bending over a newspaper at the staff table.</p><p>Harry shrugged, bringing her tea to her mouth again and avoiding eye contact. “Like a homing pigeon.”</p><p>Riddle nodded, the agreeable smile on his face creasing his eyes but never quite managing to seem real to Harry.</p><p>Her skin was starting to itch again, the feel of blood flakes heavy beneath her fingertips. Maybe she could give him a concussion with the medical textbook-</p><p>“A pigeon? How delightfully… mudblood.”</p><p>The voice snapped Harry out of her spiral, teacup flying from her hands and splattering hot liquid all over the tall, pale man behind her. He glared at her, looking like nothing more than Draco Malfoy for a second, the sneer almost identical to ones she’d received every day.</p><p>But no- this man’s features were less fine, his eyes dark brown instead of Malfoy’s silver. And he was covered in tea, which he deserved, the prat.</p><p>“Oh, I’m dreadfully sorry,” Harry said, “I’ve no idea what you mean. Is that slang?”</p><p>The Malfoy (it had to be a Malfoy, didn’t it? The resemblance was too much) curled his lip, face morphing into a sneer as he dropped a piece of paper into the teapot in front of her.</p><p>“What it <em>means</em> is that you should have been drowned at birth for existing. Mudblood existence is like a cat giving birth to a dog. And your parent euthanised for producing such an unholy thing.”</p><p>Harry was on her feet in an instant, magic singing in her blood as she slashed her wand towards him. “<em>Consuo.”</em></p><p>That was a mistake, Harry thought, the moment the silvery spell flew from eucalyptus straight into Malfoy’s sneer. Cursing wasn’t a way to keep her head down, especially not in front of other people.</p><p>But damn it, maybe she’d spent too long listening to her Malfoy sneer at Hermione for the same reason even as the world ended, and maybe she was stressed out with being in this century, and maybe it was a threat, but she doubted he’d do the same thing again.</p><p>The lines of offence in the boy’s face grew as he withdrew his own wand, starting to open his mouth to retaliate. Before he could he made a pained sound, blood blooming at one corner of his mouth, a silvery thread stretching across his lips and disappearing with another speck of blood-</p><p>
  <em>(And Harry would never admit the small dragon of satisfaction curling around her heart as she watched a bully have his mouth sewn shut, because if she did, then that would make her as bad as, well, Voldemort.)</em>
</p><p>“I don’t appreciate the use of that word,” she said calmly, as the boy’s eyes widened, hands flying to his mouth.</p><p>“And blood purity is rubbish anyway, it just makes you all inbred. Now fuck off, Malfoy.”</p><p>She sat back down at the table, breathing through her nose and trying to tamp down the pain in her mouth again, throat burning with acid as she picked up the half-eaten slice of toast and started resolutely chewing, ignoring the noises of horror behind her as the Malfoy realised what was happening and fled towards the hospital wing. Good. Bastard.</p><p>“Miss Peverell, I think it’s your timetable in your teapot,” Riddle said, words bland and lazy.</p><p>Harry jumped, cursing as she banged knobbly knees on the table. <em>Shit</em>.</p><p>Avery hadn’t moved, head still pressed to the table. Nott, however, was looking at her with open fascination in his eyes (one green, one blue- huh) and written across his face. Worse was Riddle, who’d propped his chin up on one hand, using the tip of his wand to precisely fish out the parchment, an air of politeness around him and eyes fixed on her face, head cocked to the side.</p><p>She could feel the flush working its way up her neck now, clashing horribly with the green and silver she wore.</p><p>
  <em>Don’t look into his eyes, don’t look into his eyes-</em>
</p><p><em>“</em>Thank you,” she said mutedly, accepting the proffered piece of paper as he rescued it, murmuring a charm to dry it. The prefect was right, she saw, the ink of her timetable running like water down a desert gully.</p><p>“Of course,” he said, every inch the gentleman. “That’s what prefects are for.”</p><p>“And that is <em>not</em> what the suturing charm is usually for, but <em>by Merlin</em> I’ll remember it,” Nott said, his fascination seemingly broken by Riddle’s words.</p><p>“You must have a background in medical magic too- that’s a tricky piece, Healer Singh says- but to get it to work without a wound… You must be taking his class, right!?”</p><p>Harry blinked slightly at the sudden enthusiasm, watching Nott wave his hands around enthusiastically. “Erm-“</p><p>“How did you get past the requirements of the Asclepian oath?!”</p><p>Harry blinked again, bafflement quickly becoming the dominant feeling.</p><p>“The what?”</p><p>“Y’know, ‘<em>Do no harm’</em>? Which I think is ridiculous anyway since sometimes you’ve got to hurt people to cure them, like when <em>technically</em> you’re poisoning someone with that ergot containing potion to stop them bleeding out after giving birth, or when you’re breaking ribs to get Egyptian Scarab larvae out of heart tissue-“</p><p>“I never took it,” Harry broke in quickly, just about managing to save the poor teapot from being knocked to the floor by Nott’s wild gesturing. “We needed to just learn it, so we did.”</p><p>Nott’s eyes went wide as he grinned, leaning in conspiratorially.</p><p>“Don’t let anyone know, it’s <em>such</em> a hamper-“</p><p>“How’re y’no’ a Ravenclaw, Nott?” Avery asked, just about managing to haul himself upright, reaching for crumpets. “An’ divvent be encouragin’ law breakin’ in front o’ Riddle.”</p><p>“I’d make a terrible Ravenclaw,” Nott started to elaborate.</p><p>Harry tuned him out, suddenly remembering that Riddle was still staring at her with his head cocked. She felt a little like she was one of Nott’s scarabs, pinned down whilst a collector examined her with a magnifying glass.</p><p>Damnit. No point not letting him in her head if she was just going to casually reveal everything anyway-</p><p>“I’ve no idea what they mean, Miss Peverell,” he said, lips pressing into a smile. “I didn’t see any law breaking this morning. I doubt you’ll be able to read your timetable, however, so which classes did you take?”</p><p>Harry swallowed, looking down at her piece of paper. He was right, damnit, the fibre had collapsed into a soggy mush on her plate, utterly hopeless of its original purpose.</p><p>“Transfiguration, Charms, Defence, Potions, Runes and Herbology,” she said unwillingly. “Healer Singh said I could come to his class if I wanted too, but I don’t think I’ll have the time.”</p><p>Riddle made an undignified snort of derision. Could Voldemort still snort? Harry wondered in surprise. Surely the lack of nose would made that difficult-</p><p>“You’re a Slytherin, not a Gryffindor. If you want to do it, find a way.”</p><p>Harry glared at him. “What’s wrong with being a Gryffindor? Both of my parents were-“</p><p>Except no they <em>weren’t</em>, Harry realised, snapping her mouth shut before she could finish that sentence. Peverell was a last name pulled out of a fairytale, and if her parents had gone to Hogwarts, then Riddle could quite easily <em>check</em>.</p><p>“Do you want to do it or not?”</p><p>“Yes,” Harry snapped, “Why do you care?”</p><p>“I’m a prefect, Miss Peverell, it’s my duty to ensure you get to where you need to go, and that my housemates push themselves to excel,” Riddle said mildly, picking up his mug again.</p><p>“Between the three of us, we take all of those lessons, so you can attach yourself and we’ll ensure you get there safely, yes? I rather think you’ll be unpopular in the rest of the house after your…. creative way to get Malfoy to be quiet.”</p><p>Riddle smiled like a shark at her over the top of his crockery, and Harry felt the ice in her stomach start to coat the rest of her internal organs.</p><p>“I’m just here to finish school, Riddle, I’m not interested in being exceptional.”</p><p>“Well, we’ll have to change that mindset, won’t we? I won’t accept anything less than.”</p><p>It would sound encouraging to anyone else listening, Harry thought, wincing slightly as a gesturing, very affronted Malfoy rushed back into the hall with a teacher in tow.</p><p>But underneath, it tasted of threat- and if her magic purred with the thought of answering it as she was hauled away, then what of it?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(I couldn't figure out how to add end notes to the last chapter lol sorry!)</p><p>Yo! So, thanks for reading- I've been so excited to see all your comments, favs and book marks! They genuinely make my day! *Showers you all in flowers*</p><p>Just a few things- this might be a slow updater (I have professional exams in July and they are six hours long and Awful, so I'm writing this in my limited downtime). I'm not going to abandon without warning, though. </p><p>It's mentioned in the tags, but- I'm very bad at telling what is and isn't body horror this days (thanks COVID) . It may get a little gruesome, but I'll try and add warnings if it's anything worse than the above. Interestingly, an ergot derivative is used to help prevent women from bleeding out during pregnancy (though as a chemically synthesised medicine, not a potion. :P).  </p><p>Otherwise, thank you for reading and hopefully see ya'll within the month!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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